Do You Believe in Magic?
by leaf1
Summary: Ever wonder how Muggle borns and their families began to believe in magic? Most people would just throw their Hogwarts letters in the trash. When Dumbledore sends his professors to the homes of Muggle students...well... How’d you react?
1. Dean Thomas

A/N: Dean's parents are able to follow their son onto the platform, just because I never really liked the ideas that Muggle parents were forced to say outside, while wizarding parents could see their kids off. For this story, all Muggle parents have some kind of pass that allows them on to the Platform if they have a magical child. The ending at this sight is a little bit different from the one over at Fiction Alley.

~ Lots of love to my wonderful betas: Calliope and Hannah Bell.

Dean Thomas dribbled his soccer ball down the street after playing in the park, on his way home. He was in a very good mood. He had won an art competition and his eleventh birthday was today. Grinning, Dean entered the flat he lived in with his parents. He grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl sitting on the piano, and peeled it while bouncing the ball on his head.

"Don't do that, dear. You might break something, " his mother said absently.

"Hullo, Mum. Guess what? I won the Community art competition for my age group! Isn't that great?" He laughed. " Anything interesting happen today besides the celebration of my birth?" Dean asked.

His mother looked around nervously. "You have received a . . . letter."

Dean brightened at this. "Really? From who? Where is it? I want to read it."

"NO!" his mother shrieked.

Dean gave her a confused look.

Mrs. Thomas bit her bottom lip and took a calming breath. "I mean . . . no. I'm sorry Dean. You can not have the letter."

"Why not?"

His mother gave him a hard look, "You can not have the letter because it is fastened to the talons of an owl."

Her son lifted an eyebrow. "Oh," he said thoughtfully, "that's a good reason."

Dean and his mother waited for Mr. Thomas to get home from work.

Mrs. Thomas greeted her husband at the door. "Dear," she said, while taking her husband's coat, "there is an owl inside Dean's room."

Mr. Thomas looked at his wife with disbelief, "Why didn't you just open the door and shoo it out?" The man clearly did not believe his wife, "Darling, owls don't come out in the daytime, and they don't come into people's houses."

His wife glared at him.

"Fine," he sighed and went towards his son's room.

"Mom, why didn't you just chase the owl outside," Dean asked, as the family trooped down the hall and halted in front of a door.

"I _tried_," Mrs. Thomas said exasperatedly, "the owl just would not _go_."

Mr. Thomas chuckled and slowly opened the door. He peered in, stared for a few seconds, and slammed the door closed.

"What? What?" his family cried in alarm.

Mr. Thomas turned slowly to face them. "You left the window open . . ."

"Oh! You mean the owl left by itself, then," Mrs. Thomas sighed, closing her eyes in relief.

Dean felt a pang of disappointment. His mother had refused to let him enter the room, so he never had the chance to see the owl or the letter.

"That's not exactly what is in there," his father slowly admitted. Dean looked up with excitement and his mother sank to the floor.

"What's in there," Dean asked.

"There are over twenty owls in that room."

Dean's jaw dropped and his mother moaned.

"What if they all have some kind of _disease?_" she asked in despair, holding her head in

her hands.

His father continued, ignoring his family's reaction to his most recent information.

"The strangest thing is, that they are all carrying letters - and from what I can make out, all of them are addressed to Dean." Both parents looked at their son.

"Then I guess we have no choice but to catch an owl and open a letter," Dean said gleefully. He rushed forward to the door, ignoring his mother pleas to stop, and opened it. He stumbled back as owl after owl flew out towards the living room. Mrs. Thomas shrieked and her husband pulled her behind him, using his body as a shield. Dean reached out for the closest owl and stroked its feathers.

"Dean, do be careful," his mother quaked, twirling a strand of her black hair around a finger - a sure sign that she was nervous.

"Don't worry, Mum," Dean soothed, still petting the creature. The owl, preening under the attention, lifted it leg. Still caressing the bird, Dean quickly unfastened the letter. He opened he note and scanned it, "Dad! Come look at this!"

His father reluctantly took the note and read it. He paused.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"It can't be," Dean gesticulated wildly, "look at the owls and the amount of paper. Who would hire so many to deliver so many letters from a place called _Hogwarts_?"

The family looked around in silence, staring at the owls.

Suddenly there was a small pop and a tiny man appeared on top of the piano.

The Thomas's screamed.

In response, the little man squealed and fell off the piano.

"Honestly," he muttered, reappearing on the instrument, "I never was much good at

Apparating."

Mrs. Thomas, who until that very moment, seemed weak and fragile, became very animated. With a loud screech, she wrenched a lamp sitting on a nearby table out of its socket and lunged towards the stranger, knocking him in the head with it.

With a squeak, the man disappeared again.

"Mum . . .wow . . . " Dean stuttered, "I didn't know you had it in you."

His father looked dazed, but was gaping at his wife with amazement.

Mrs. Thomas flipped her hair out of her sweaty face. She gave her family a wobbly grin, "Yeah, well."

"Oooooohhhh . . . that's going to leave a mark." The tiny man got up shakily, having just reappeared.

Mrs. Thomas hauled up the lamp up threateningly.

"_EXPELLIARIMUS_!" shouted the little man.

Mrs. Thomas dropped the lamp as she was lifted off the ground and hurled against a wall.

Mr. Thomas darted forward, and the stranger lifted a thin piece of wood and shouted,

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Dean's father tumbled to the floor, stiff as a board.

Dean stared in amazement and hastily backed away as the short man turned to him.

"You leave my son alone," Mrs. Thomas called, wincing in pain, "don't you dare touch him!" The small man tutted to himself.

"Why do _I_ always wind up with the difficult ones? Minerva told me all about her meeting with the Grangers - she had no problems with them! And Albus wants to send Hagrid to The Boy Who Lived! Why is it I am the one who returns to Hogwarts sporting the latest fashion in bruises?"

"Excuse me," Dean interrupted, fascination written clearly on his face. Curiosity, instead of safety, had gotten the better of him. "How did you do that? I mean with that stick?"

The small man paused in his ranting. "Young man," he replied seriously, "this is a _wand_."

Dean's eyes widened, "Wicked," he breathed.

His mother, who had crawled up behind him, pulled her son against her chest, "Dean, there is nothing _wicked_ about this situation. There is a stranger who sounds like he is on helium, standing in our house." She edged away, pulling Dean with her.

"Let me introduce myself," the stranger said. "My name is Filius Flitwick. I am a professor at a boarding school known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy."

Dean leaned forward. "Hogwarts? The place where all these letters keep coming from?"

"Yes. The very one." Flitwick smiled at the boy, but looked sternly at the adults. "Now, if we could just talk like civilized people, there will not be any problems." He surveyed them. "Do you agree with me?"

Mrs. Thomas looked at Dean who was nodding energetically, "Yes, Mum! Oh, yes! Let's listen to him! Please?" - To her husband, still prostrate on the floor, his eyes pleading.

Mrs. Thomas sighed. "Alright," she reluctantly said.

Flitwick beamed. "Wonderful! _Ennervate_!"

With a groan, Mr. Thomas slowly sat up. His wife ran to him, showering him with hugs and kisses. "Darling, are you alright?"

"Yes. my dear, I'm fine. Shhh," he held his wife to him, warily watching Flitwick, who had made himself comfortable on the sofa, his impossibly short legs sticking stiffly out in front of him. "Who are you and what do you want with Dean?"

"Your son is a wizard, Mr. Thomas."

There was absolute silence as Dean and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas digested what had just been said.

Mrs. Thomas sniffled. "Mr. Flitwick -"

"Call me Filius, dear."

"Filius . . . what are you talking about? Who are you, really?"

"I told you. I am a professor at Hogwarts. I teach Charms - a specialized area of magic."

"But there is no such thing like magic. It is impossible -"

"My dear woman," Flitwick interrupted gently, "if there is no such thing as magic, explain how someone as small as me was able to throw you against the wall? How was I able to

paralyze your husband with a _stick_, as you are so set in calling it?"

Mrs. Thomas could not answer. She just stood there, twisting her hair around her fingers. Her husband patted her on the back and steered her towards a chair. Then, he turned to the professor in front of him.

"How do we know this is not just some elaborate scheme? My brother did say that he was going to do something big for Dean's birthday."

Dean jumped. He had forgotten that he had turned eleven that day with all the excitement that had happened.

"If this was some elaborate hoax for young Mr. Thomas, tell me how I was able to do all those things? When I petrified you, did you not feel that you could not move? You felt frozen in place. If this was a practical joke, then you probably would have been informed about it by your brother." Flitwick observed the Thomas's skeptical faces and sighed. "I can tell neither of you are really certain to believe me. If I show you magic, then you will know for real that I am telling the truth."

"All right!" Dean smiled broadly and Flitwick winked at him.

The tiny man looked around the room. He focused on a chair, raised his tiny arm, then muttered two words: "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The single piece of furniture began to rise into the air.

"Good, sweet Lord in Heaven," Mrs. Thomas breathed. "How did you do that?"

"Blimey! That's mind-boggling! Will I be able to do that one day?" Dean exclaimed,

"Mum! I must go to that school! I have to!" His mother had started to tremble again, so Dean turned to his father beseeching him. " Dad, please make Mum let me go to

Hogwarts! Please! I promise to be good!"

Slowly, Mr. Thomas approached the levitating chair. He walked around it a few times and prodded it cautiously. "There's nothing holding it up," he whispered, "no ropes, no riggings . . . nothing. This - this is extraordinary!" He turned to the professor. "It's real," he gasped, rubbing his chin in wonder. "It is actually real. There is such a thing as magic!" He laughed and shook his head. Then he turned towards his son and bowed.

"My son. Dean Thomas, what is the word? Oh yes, Dean Thomas, wizard extraordinaire."

Mr. Thomas seemed to be getting a kick out of that. He roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. "My boy is going to learn magic." He grabbed his son roughly to him and ruffled the boy's hair. "My boy . . ." he trailed off, pride evident in his voice.

Flitwick smiled and Dean grinned. All three men turned to the solitary woman in the flat.

Dean walked over to her. "Mum . . . Mum? What is the matter? You do see that magic does exist, don't you? This entire day has been evidence of its existence," he took his mother's hands and hugged her. "Mother," he asked sadly, "does this really scare you? I won't go to the school if you don't want me to. Professor Flitwick can tell them I won't go."

Mrs. Thomas clung tighter to her only child and sniffled.

Dean felt horrible. His mother was a weeping mess and all he could think about was getting a wand and going to a school that he had never heard of until that day...

"Oh, Dean", Mrs. Thomas said softly, "I'm not lamenting over your being a . . . a _wizard. _I'm crying because I am happy for you." Mrs. Thomas pulled away from her son, so she could look him straight in the eye. "Dean, darling, I, well, we - we are going to miss you. Hogwarts," she paused, letting the foreign word roll of her tongue, "Hogwarts is a boarding school. We have never seen it. We have never even heard of it, and suddenly you are going to be whisked off to learn how to become a wizard." Mrs. Thomas gave her son a watery smile.

Dean's heart leapt, "Do you mean it?" he asked, half afraid his mother would change her mind. "You really don't mind my going off to Hogwarts?"

"Darling, I want you to be happy, and you seem pretty happy right now," she wiped her eyes with the edge of her sweater, straightened her dress, and stood up. "Mr. Flitwick -"

He smiled, "Filius, dear."

"Right. Filius, we would be honored if you took our son into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She gave them an unsteady smile, which was returned to her threefold.

"Well, now that we are all in agreement," Flitwick beamed, "let us get down to business." He lowered the chair gently to the floor and faced the Thomas's, Dean in particular. "Do you still have the papers from Hogwarts?"

The boy nodded, ran off to gather the documents, and promptly returned, parchments in hand. He handed them over to his parents.

"Do you agree with the terms?" Dean's parents nodded, after Flitwick explained the cost of the school year by converting galleons to pounds. Excellent," the minuscule man said in a high voice. He extracted a sheet and wrote:

_I have talked to Dean Thomas and his family. They have agreed that Dean is to come to Hogwarts._

He folded the sheet, muttered a quick spell so that an eagle appeared on one side, and looked around for an owl. He quickly tied the letter to the closest one and threw it out the window. "Now that we have gotten that out of the way, there are a few unresolved matters."

"Yes, there are. Where are we going to get robes, cauldrons, and a wand," Mr. Thomas asked. "I doubt we can go to the nearest store and say `Pardon me, but my child is in need of a wand and a broom.'"

Flitwick nodded, "That is why the Headmaster has instructed me to take you to Diagon Alley. That's the place where the magical people around here do their shopping. It's too late this evening, as it's after eight, but are you doing anything important tomorrow?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Thomas answered. He looked at his family, "Are you?"

They shook their heads no in response.

"Wonderful!" Flitwick exclaimed. "In that case, we should all be able to take a tour of Diagon Alley. I will meet you all here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Would you like to travel to Diagon Alley by the Muggle way or the magic way?"

"Muggle? What's a Muggle?" Mrs. Thomas asked.

"Muggles are non magical people, like you and your husband. Now, which way?"

"Magic," Dean answered quickly. He wanted to gain knowledge of magic as much as possible before school opened in September. His parents must have agreed with their son's logic because they didn't argue.

"All right," Flitwick chirped. He smiled and shook Dean's, Mrs. Thomas's, and Mr. Thomas's hands. Flitwick stood back. "I will see you tomorrow. Goodbye for now," and with a little _pop_, he was gone.

Dean paced quickly in the living room, nervously checking the clock. The clock, at ten - oh - three was getting rather loud.

_Tick tock. . .tick tock . . . tick tock._

_Professor Flitwick is real_, Dean thought. _I could not have dreamed up that whole meeting yesterday, right? Right?_

_Tick tock . . . tick tock . . . tick tock._

_Mum and Dad did agree to let me go to the school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and_

_Wizardry. I am going to be a wizard. I need to get my school supplies for first year._

_Tick tock . . . tick tock . . . tick tock_

_Too bad first years are not allowed to bring brooms. I would have liked carrying a flying broom about. Interesting, I always thought witches were the only ones who flew on brooms. I wonder how hard it is going to be to learn magic . . ._

_Tick tock. . . tick tock . . . tick tock_

_He is coming right? Of course he is._

Dean tossed a glance at his parents who were both sitting wordlessly on the couch.

There was a miniscule pop and a tiny voice piped up, "Sorry I'm late. There was a slight problem with one of the teachers helping a Muggle born witch and her family."

"Oh. Is everything all right?" Mr. Thomas asked, as he and his spouse stood up.

"Oh, yes, yes. Everything is perfectly fine," Flitwick said. "Now, you all decided that you want to travel to Diagon Alley like true witches and wizards. Witches are good," he added hastily, as he saw Mrs. Thomas' sour look at being called a witch.

"He obviously has never been here on Halloween," she muttered to her husband, so that Flitwick would not overhear, "being called a witch is not normally what I would take as a compliment."

"This," the tiny professor held up a sock, "is a Portkey."

There was absolute silence after that.

"Nooo," Mr. Thomas said slowly and deliberately, "that is a _sock_. One with many holes in it."

"Yes, it is a sock," Flitwick agreed, "but it is more than that. When magic people need to get somewhere quickly, they can charm an object to transport them. A Portkey will take you to a particular place at a designated time. Portkeys are normally made from objects that are often ignored by Muggles. Mr. Thomas, if you saw this sock on the ground, without knowing what it did, would you pick it up?" Mr. Thomas shook his head.

"Exactly. Now quickly touch the sock. We must get a move on."

Dean and his parents each stood in the middle of the room and put a hand the sock. He felt a bit embarrassed, and by the looks on his parents faces, he was not the only one. The only one who looked perfectly serene was Flitwick.

"Um, professor," Dean started, "are you sure the Portkey is work -" his sentence was cut off by a sudden jerk behind his navel and he disappeared along with his family and teacher.

His bottom hurt.

Dean slowly opened one eye. Then he opened the other eye. He and his mother were sprawled on the ground. His father had managed to land standing, but was staggering around a bit. Professor Flitwick, was once again, the only person calm about the entire thing.

"We're here," Flitwick announced, "inside a small place called The Leaky Cauldron. A pub invisible to Muggles who know nothing about this world."

"Come now, Dean," his father grunted, bending to help his wife off the ground. "People are staring."

"Hullo, Filius," the bartender said. "Another Muggle family comin' for their Hogwarts supplies?"

"Yes, Tom," Flitwick answered. "I must thank you once again for letting your pub be used as a stop area before getting into Diagon Alley." The bartender grinned and the customers went back to what they were doing originally.

Professor Flitwick led the Thomases to the rear of the tavern and out the back door, where they stopped in front of a large brick wall. "Stand back," Flitwick murmured a spell and rose into the air. He got as close to the wall as possible and tapped his wand against the wall in certain places, then floated back down as the wall began to move and rebuild.

Dean heard his father gasp, his mother wring her fingers, and he, himself, gulped. Flitwick smiled, "Dean, Mr. Thomas. Mrs. Thomas. Welcome, to Diagon Alley," the land in front of them, swarmed with people in robes and pointy hats. The Thomas's and the professor walked to Gringotts, a bank run by goblins. "Come quickly. You don't want to get lost on your very first visit!" Flitwick turned to the Dean after they had stepped out of the wizarding bank. "Dean, it is up to you. What would you like to get first?"

The boy looked at the small man in front of him and up at all the shops surrounding him.

"I want to get my wand, first," he admitted. The Charms teacher grinned.

"This way to Ollivander's," the Thomas's followed the tiny man into a shabby store titled: Ollivander: Maker of Fine Wands. The group stepped inside, ignoring the bells that chimed to announce their presence.

"Hullo," an old man said softly, "Hmmmm. I haven't seen anyone from your lineage for a very long time." He hobbled closer, staring deeply into Dean`s eyes. The boys fidgeted.

As he hobbled to the back of the store to bring out thin boxes, a charmed tape measure flew at Dean and began to measure his arm and other various body parts. Flitwick did not object, so Dean did not say anything, even though he wasn't too happy having his left nostril measured. Ollivander returned, carrying loads of small packages with him. He grabbed the measuring tape and dragged Dean closer to the front of the store. Ollivander opened the closest parcel.

"Here," he said and thrust the wand into Dean's hand, "give it a good wave."

Dean lifted his arm, but Ollivander snatched the wand from him.

"No, that isn't right," he shoved another wand into the boy's hand. Dean eagerly raised his arm and the wand was swept away from him. They spent the next ten minutes searching for the right wand. Dean was getting more excited, but his parents sighed with weariness.

Finally, Ollivander brought out one more wand. He gave it reverently to Dean.

"Do you want me to swish it about?" Dean asked, unused to Ollivander giving him a wand without promptly taking it away. The old man nodded, a thoughtful look upon his face. Dean swished the wand and felt warm and contented. He dropped his arm and turned to his parents.

They stood eyes wide open.

"What?" he asked.

"You glowed," his mother replied.

Ollivander nodded. "Yes. That is the wand for you, young Mr. Thomas. Nine and a half inches, rosewood and fairy hair. I haven't used fairy hair in quite some time; it's rather temperamental, but I believe it suits you."

"Wicked," Dean exhaled, his eyes fixated on the wand. They paid for the wand and left the store. Dean glanced at his mother, who seemed more relaxed and having a discussion

with the charms professor.

Professor Flitwick and the Thomas's wandered around Diagon Alley, speaking excitedly and pointing out various aspects of the magical community.

"Look, Mum! Can I have a golden cauldron?"

"The school list says to get a pewter one."

"Well, I'll be. An actual broomstick! A real flying broomstick!"

"Oh yes! The first year students will learn how to fly them. Not top of the line models like the Nimbus 2000, but older brooms."

The group spent the rest of the day there. By the time they Portkeyed back, the Thomas's were exhausted.

Flitwick gave them a cheery farewell. "See you at Hogwarts!" he said, and Apparated away.

Dean smiled. Tired as he was, he could not wait to start Hogwarts.

********** (September 1st)

The Thomas's were on Platform 9 and 3/4 at Kings Cross Station. They had gotten onto the wizarding platform rather easily, by the fact Filius Flitwick left them detailed instructions on how to get on the hidden platform.

"Goodbye, Dean," his mother fussed, hugging him tightly.

"Make us proud, son," his father added, clapping the boy on the back. Dean kissed his parents. "We shall see you during winter break." Dean nodded and pulled away. He had a train to catch.

"Potter, Harry."

Dean listened to gasps of amazement from the other Hogwarts students, old and new.

"_Potter, _did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

Dean watched a thin boy with messy black hair that obscured an odd scar on his forehead, walk up to the stool and put the Sorting Hat on. Dean did not see what the big deal was about for the first year, and did not understand why the Gryffindor table suddenly came to life when the Sorting Hat put Harry in that House.

_A lot of people went into that House tonight_, Dean thought, _but that table is going crazy over Harry Potter. _His thoughts were cut off by the next person called to be sorted.

"Thomas, Dean."

Adrenaline pumping through his body, Dean ran up to the stool and eagerly jammed the Hat upon his head. A voice filled his head, making him jump a bit.

"Hmmm . . . I see your compassion. You were willing to go to a Muggle school for the sake of your mother, were you? I don't see you in this house...or this one, but you do have lots of courage in you. My, this might be one of my easier Sortings. You belong in

GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table roared with applause; Dean went to the table and sat next to a first year boy with sandy hair. The remaining people were sorted into their respective houses.

The boy next to him spoke up, "Hullo, My name is Seamus Finnigan. I'm half and half. Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch `til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him." Those around laughed appreciatively and conversation flowed. Seamus turned towards Dean. "What about you?" he asked.

"Both my parents are Muggles. I didn't know I was a wizard until Professor Flitwick popped into my home." Dean shrugged. "I hope I'm not too far behind everyone else."

Seamus grinned, "Don't worry about it. Even though some of us know things about the magical world, this is our first time actually training. We're all in the same boat."

"Do you, by any chance, know how to ride a broom?" a burly boy with an accent asked Dean. The first year shook his head. "Oh, alright, then. Bell, we really need to find a Seeker."

"Oliver," the girl, obviously known as Bell to the boy next to her, "relax. It's our first day back. We'll find someone." The girl tutted and two of her friends, snickered.

Dean relaxed. _They don't seem like a bad bunch._

After dinner and the school song was sang, the first years were led to their common rooms. Dean put on his pajamas and fell into the bed. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was:

_I'm going to really like it here at Hogwarts._


	2. Hermione Granger

Thanks to Alex25 for her fabulous betaing skills. This is dedicated to all those who have reviewed and those who haven't reviewed, but enjoyed the story as well.

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Hermione Granger sat at her favorite table in the local library on front of a large window where a massive tree waved it's branches majestically on the warm August day. The girl loved the peacefulness the library exuded when she tried to study. The librarians loved the well-behaved girl. Anytime Hermione came, the librarians smiled. It was a normal day for the people in the library until August 22nd.

  


"Hullo, Mrs. Baker," Hermione chirped as she slid into her normal table, gently placing her blue jacket on the back of her chair.   
  


"Hullo, dear. Happy Birthday," the librarian responded as she passed by, arms filled with books.   
  
  
Hermione thanked the woman; ignoring the fact the elder librarian wished her a Happy Birthday twenty - eight days in advance, and opened her book bag. She heaved out her schoolbooks and opened them in front of her. She was the only student in her year who had signed up for summer school, in hopes of increasing her knowledge. Hermione had just gotten into her studies, for there was not time like the present to increase her knowledge, when she was interrupted by a tapping sound on the window panel behind her. She turned and looked out at the glass, her eyebrows meeting her bushy hair.   
  
  
_Is that an owl_, she thought as she looked at the flying creature, which settled itself on one of the tree branches. The tawny owl hooted snootily, as if it were of great importance. _I didn't know that owls lived around here. Strange. _  
  
  
Without giving it another thought, and more interested in finishing her homework, the girl turned away and immersed herself into her tome.   
  
  
_Tap . . . tap . . . tap._   
  
  
Hermione turned again, startled out of her work. The owl was pecking against the glass, wings fluttering as it struggled to stay aloft. The girl stared at the aviary, looking closely to the object tied to the creature's leg.   
  
  
_It looks like . . . paper. _The child scrunched up her face, eyebrows furrowing as she looked around the library. The other people in the room did not seem to be worried. In fact, none of them seemed to notice the owl that was still pecking at the glass. Shifting uncomfortably, Hermione turned back to her notes. She was unable to concentrate, though, and soon found herself making her way to the front of the room where the librarians sat by the Check Out/Renewal counter. She pulled Mrs. Baker aside.   
  
  
"Hermione, dear," Mrs. Baker's elderly voice wafted to her ears, "are you alright? Do you need help finding something? This library just received a new shipment of books . . ."   
  
  
"No, no. That's quite alright. I'm in the middle of reading a brilliant novel, actually. I don't need anything right this moment," Hermione replied, "but there is a bit of a problem."   
  
  
"Oh, really," the woman warbled. "What seems to be the trouble?"   
  
  
"Well," Hermione said as if she were about to conspire with the old lady. She threw a glance around the room to make sure no one was listening in, and said in a hushed voice, "you know the table where I normally sit?" She waited for a nod. "Well, while I was reading, an owl came up to the window and started banging on it!"   
  
  
"What," Mrs. Baker cried. "Owls don't live in this part of England!"   
  
  
"Oh, I know," Hermione said hastily, ignoring the looks she was receiving from the other library patrons. "I don't know. Maybe the owl was hurt or something." She took Mrs. Baker's hand and the rushed to where Hermione's books laid open. What they saw, made them stop in shock.   
  
  
Mrs. Baker adjusted her glasses, eyes blinking rapidly. "Oh my," she said, "oh, my!"   
  
  
"Hundreds. Hundreds of owls," Hermione whispered. The large, sturdy tree could hardly be seen. Owls -- different colors covered every branch, an assortment of shapes.   
  
  
"Are they carrying something," Mrs. Baker asked, squinting. She edged closer to the window. "Why, yes! They are! I'm . . . I'm not really sure _what_, but it seems like they're carrying. . . _paper_? How extraordinary. Oh, look! They keep flying towards the window, as if they're trying to get in." The woman looked around in awe of her environment. "Well, I do not see anything that would or should be of great interest to an owl, let alone any kind of bird."   
  
  
"Um, do you think we should do something?" questioned Hermione, rubbing her tongue against her incisors as she normally did when she was nervous. "I don't think it's right for owls to be behaving that way." She was about to continue, but suddenly, the owls took flight. The elder woman and the young girl looked at each other.   
  
  
Mrs. Baker wringed her hands, helplessly. "Now, what do you suppose that was all a --" She was cut off by shrieks from the front of the library. The two rushed forward, and balked at the sight.   
  
  
Owl after owl streamed into the library, one right after the other, sailing over the heads of panicking library patrons. Many of the people were running, books held over their heads, or trying to swat the owls away, while others crouching under tables. They hooted loudly as they came in, circling around the room searching for one person in particular -- Hermione Granger.   
  
  
They swooped down, dropping the object from their beaks in front of the girl. Slowly, Hermione crouched down and picked up a paper. It was a letter with a purple crest, a large letter 'H' stamped on it's seal. She turned it over:   
  
  


__

Hermione Granger

In front of large glass window

Next to Mrs. Baker

Public Library

Oxfordshire, _England_

Before Hermione could open the epistle, the library doors burst open. Five people dressed in strange clothing appeared in the room, long sticks pushed ahead of them as if used for protection.   
  


__

It's not that they're strangely dressed, Hermione noted as she straightened up and shoved the letter into her pocket, _but more of laid back about what they're wearing. I don't know many people who wear shirts with bright orange with green polka dots, and striped pants _.  


"Nobody move!" came the order from one of the newcomers. The woman turned towards the others in the cluster behind her slightly. "Spread out, and make sure that everyone who was here when the owls came are still around."   
  
  
"Following your orders, Elizabeth," one of the people from the cluster said, as they fanned out, speaking in quiet voices to the people closest to him or her.   
  
  
_I guess she's the leader. _Hermione absently thought. The young girl was more interested in how the letter was able to pinpoint her exact location next to Mrs. Baker who was still wringing her hands. Especially from people she had never heard about. She arose from her stupor when Mrs. Barker grabbed her arm, the old lady's grip tightening in a painful fashion around the younger girl as the leader of the group walked towards them, stick held firmly in her left hand. 

  


"Hullo!" Elizabeth said rather brightly. "I'm Elizabeth, but people call me Lizzie.--"   
  
  
Mrs. Baker pushed Hermione behind her to shield the girl, a look of terror on her face. "Leave Hermione alone. The girl did nothing wrong."   
  
  
Lizzie waved away the old woman's comment. "Lean in a bit closer. I have something to ask you . . .Wait a minute, did you say Hermione? As in Hermione Granger?"   
  
  
_How does she know my name? Have I done something? _Hermione struggled to keep from trembling. She was not one who entered trouble willingly. "Er, yes. My name is Hermione."   
  
  
Lizzie smiled. "Oh, well, in that case, could you go into that room for a little bit?" She pointed to a door that led to a storage area for books, located behind Hermione.   
  


"But --"   
  
  
"Ah, there's a good girl," Lizzie said, pushing the girl through the door that led to a storage area. Lizzie turned back to Mrs. Baker who squeaked loudly. "Now, ma'am, there's no need to cry. I promise. _Oblivi_ --" The door had swung shut, and Hermione could not hear what Lizzie was saying anymore. In a few seconds, the door opened and the surprised faces of Mrs. Baker and Lizzie stared at her.   
  
  
"Why, Hermione! What are you doing in here?" Mrs. Baker asked.   
  
  
"She," Hermione pointed at Lizzie who blinked, "shoved me in here!"   
  
  
"Me," Lizzie asked, a look of shock on her face. "I was here with Mrs. Baker asking about a book! Mrs. Baker just told me that she had recently received a new stock of novels." The woman tossed a knowing look at the girl, but when she turned to the older woman, her face was innocent. Isn't that right, Mrs. Baker?" 

The older lady nodded in assent.   
  
  
Hermione stared at the women. "Wha...What?" she stuttered in confusion.   
  


"Dear, are you feeling ill? Maybe you should go home for a bit," Mrs. Baker tutted, feeling Hermione's forehead. Hermione pushed the woman's hand off her face, giving Mrs. Baker a puzzled glance.   
  


Lizzie nodded sympathetically, as she opened a door marked Exit and motioned Hermione to come "Hurry up, lass. Go through the door over there. I think that leads outside. Go on, scoot." She gently pushed the girl towards and out the door. " Now, go home. I'm sure your family needs to speak to you. Or if they don't they soon will." She winked at the girl, as the door shut.   
  


The child stood motionless for a few seconds, trying to gather what had just happened. _Strange people entered, waving pieces of wood _Hermione contemplated. _I was shoved into a closet and when I came back out, everyone was acting as if nothing had happened. And what does this Lizzie woman know about my family? Why would she say something like that?_  
  


Biting her lip, and looking around with uncertainty, Hermione started on her way home, too dazed to remember that she had left her books at the library. She was unaware that a small cat was following her with strange markings around the eyes.   
  
  
The cat wandered after the girl until they reached the Granger resident - home of Hermione, Dr., and Dr. Granger, two dentists. To make its presence known, the cat mewed. Hermione turned and looked at the small creature. The animal blinked and looked at the girl innocently.   
  
  
"Did that cat just wink at me?" Hermione muttered as she climbed up the stairs to her home, and opened the door wide The girl did not notice that the cat skittered past her, as she entered her home. "Blimey, I must be going plumb crazy. Mum! Dad! I'm home!"   
  
  
"We're in here!" her mother's voice drifted from the living room. Hermione entered to see her parents relaxed on the sofas, reading newspapers. The girl stared at her parents. She had received her eyes from her father, but definitely gotten her bushy hair from her mother. "How was your trip to the library?"   
  
  
The youngest member of the Granger family, sat down. Hermione sat down, contemplating what to say. "It was . . . bizarre. I was reading and finishing my homework, when I turned and looked out the window. There were owls. Tons of owls, sitting on that large tree! They were all carrying letters, like this --" she fished out the letter that she had picked up from her pocket and gave it to her mother -- " and just dropped them all over the library. Some people came in and one of them pushed me into another room. When I got out, Mrs. Baker and everyone else who was in the library acted as if nothing had happened!" She paused, another thought occurring. "I just realized something. The floor was cleaned too. I don't know how they were able to clean the ground so quickly."   
  
  
Hermione looked at her parents, waiting for their reactions. Her mother was strangely silent, reading the letter she had given her and her father just looked at his daughter with mild concern. Mr. Granger was about to say something, but the cat, which no one had been aware of, entered the room, hopped onto a vacant chair, and settled itself stiffly, tail swishing. The Grangers looked at the cat and the cat stared back at them sternly.   
  
  
"What in the world? When did we get a cat?" Hermione's father started, but then the cat mewed and began to morph into a person. "Sally . . . Sally," Mr. Granger whispered in surprise, not taking his eyes off the cat. "Sally!"   
  
  
"What _is_ it, Ted," his wife replied irritably. She looked up from the letter. "Ohhh."   
  
  
The cat and the humans watched each other carefully. The woman stood, clad in a gray skirt and sweater, her hair tied up in a severe bun. Her face was not wrinkled, but looked older than it should for her countenance was serious, her form rigid. She propped her glasses further up her nose. "Before you do anything," the woman started, as she saw Mr. Granger tense up ready to defend his family, "let me introduce myself. My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am a professor at a school that would like your child to attend."   
  
  
"Oh?" Hermione's mother asked in such a tone, it seemed like a cat turning into a woman was an everyday occurrence. Hermione and her father turned to look at her. She seemed rather calm about the whole thing. "Would you like to tell us the name of this school?"   
  
  
Professor McGonagall threw the dentist a shrewd look over the glasses that were shaped exactly like the markings around her eyes when she was in cat form. "Hogwarts," she answered simply.   
  
  
"Oh. Alright." Mrs. Granger looked back down at the paper she was holding and reread it.   
  
  
"Excuse me?" Mr. Granger said stiffly after a few moments of awkward silence. He turned towards his wife, " Sally, I presume you are aware that a cat has turned into a human, right?"   
  
  
"Actually," the professor interjected, "I turned into a cat. Not a cat turned into a human."   
  
  
"Right. Right," Mr. Granger dismissed the gray haired woman with a quick wave of his hand. He looked again at his wife, hoping that his wife would provide some sort of comfort, by telling him he was dreaming, but was dismayed when he saw his spouse reading the letter, once again. He sputtered, "Sally! Put down that blasted paper and pay attention!"   
  
  
Hermione, who had been sitting quietly the entire time, suddenly spoke up not to the woman, but to her mother. " So, that story you used to tell me at bedtime...that was true?"   
  


The professor's strict face relaxed into a smile. " Ah! So you have an ancestry of the Dougles, then?" Mrs. Granger nodded, a smile upon her lips.   
  


Mr. Granger frowned. "What story?"   
  
  
"I never thought it was real. Just a story passed down through my family for generations."   
  
  
"Then you didn't know then, Mum? So does this mean, I won't have to go to that school with that horrible Julia Sailbury, then? I don't think I could take another year of her stupidity --""   
  
  
"What story?"  


"Hermione Granger!"   
  
  
"Sorry, Mum"   
  
  
"What story?"   
  
  
"You know, Mrs. Granger, my great - great - great grandmother went to school with the Lucille Dougles. They were in the same house, I believe," the professor said, her face melting into a smile, " Last time I talked to my grams, rest her soul, she told me Lucille was rather disappointed that there wasn't any other witches or wizards in her family. She would have been so proud. My great -great-great grandmother told me of how her friend told her that Lucille would tell her children about Hogwarts, so even if none of them were invited to become a student, they'd have some kind of connection to magic, by knowing magic exists. Even if it's during childhood only."

  


" So does getting this letter have something to do with what happened at the library, Professor?" Mrs. Granger asked with interest.   
  
  
"Yes. The owls got a bit out of hand in that library, don't you think?" the professor gave a sigh, ad shook her head. "The Ministry sent a Magical Reversal Team to erase that memory from the minds of Muggles. They knew to be on the look out for a girl named Hermione Granger, so that was the reason why you weren't obliviated. That's a memory spell, Miss. Granger," she said before Hermione could ask what kind of spell obliviate was.  
  
  
"What _story_?"   
  
  
Doctor Granger turned towards her husband, and gave him a comforting pat on the arm. "Dear, do you remember a story I told you has been in my family for years? One that every member of my kin has heard or should have heard?"   
  
  
Her spouse stared, and repeated what he had said before. " Sally," he said in a hysterical voice, for it was the only thing he could think of at the moment, " I presume you are aware that a cat has turned into a human, right?" His wife sighed, and he bristled. "Well, I hardly think that stories that you used to tell our daughter when she was five constitutes as important at a time like this!"   
  
  
"Sit down, Ted," Mrs. Granger said and her husband sat. "The story consisted of a magical place. A place where people carried wands and could cast spells --"   
  
  
"A place where dragons lived and people dressed in robes," Hermione piped up, memories of laying in bed as a young girl where her mother told her of a fantastic place, returning vividly.   
  
  
"Right. In the story, there's a place where children at a certain age, could learn magic to become witches or wizards. The place, a school actually, would send letters out to children around the age of eleven that they found worthy of learning the skills of magic. 

Mr. Granger stared at the people in the room. "Have I gone mad? You're talking about a story as if it really happened!"

His wife continued, ignoring her husband's outburst. "Some of the students already knew about the magical community while others did not. The ones who did not came from Muddle families." She turned to the Hogwarts educator, unsure if she had told the story perfectly.   
  
  
"The term your looking for is Muggle, not Muddle. Other than that, you're absolutely right," Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Your daughter is one of the people from a long line of Muggle heritage that has been accepted to our school."   
  
  
"Well, that's just brilliant!" Hermione said suddenly. "I wonder if I'm a bit ahead of the other Muggle born students? Since you've told me stories about Potions and Charms and Divination, I mean. Ooo..the school is hidden as well, isn't it? Muggles can't see it. They see some kind of danger sign, don't they?" Without waiting for an answer, she began ticking things that she needed, off on her fingers. "I'll need schoolbooks, and a wand of course. I want to make sure I'll be able to do everything right once I get there."   
  
  
"Insane!" Mr. Granger said, burying his face in his hands. His wife smoother his hair. "Absolutely bonkers!"

"Hermione," the Hogwarts educationalist said sternly, "if you want to be a student at our boarding school, you must adhere to the rules strictly. The school is not only full of secrets and it is very vast. You could get lost very easily if you do not pay attention to rules. Students who do not heed warning usually get expelled, a thing that would hold you back in being successful in our world. I can tell you want to go and learn, so I wouldn't want anything unpleasant to happen to you." McGonagall paused. "Do you understand?"   
  
  
The girl nodded, her features drawn in seriousness. "I won't get into any trouble," she vowed. "I'll work hard to get the best out of the education that has been offered to me."   
  
  
"You're all serious about this, aren't you?" Mr. Granger incredulously said. The three females nodded, each with a serious look upon their face. The male dentist sighed. "Well, I guess you can go to this Hogwarts if you are all so sure . . ."   


The teacher smiled as she took the abandoned Hogwarts letter and signed it with her narrow handwriting:  


  
_The Grangers have consented to let their daughter, Hermione, attend Hogwarts. _

She took a handkerchief out of a pocket in her skirt and transfigured it into an owl. The Grangers gasped in amazement. Well, Mr. Granger gasped in despair. The professor gave the owl the parchment and threw the creature out an open window. 

She turned to her young charge. "That's wonderful, dear. We shall settle a date to go to Diagon Alley. A place where students normally go to get school supplies," she added when she saw Mr. Granger's confused expression. "How does Saturday in three weeks sound?. Is that a good time for this trip?" The Grangers nodded. "Superb! Make sure you are ready to leave by eleven fifteen. Mr. Granger, would you be so kind to let me out?" Without waiting for an answer, the woman turned into a cat and mewed. Mr. Granger wiped his glasses on his shirt, sighed, and stood to open the door. The cat marched after him, head held high. The two remaining females looked at each other and burst out laughing, releasing the remaining tension that had lingered in the room.   


~~~~~   


At eleven fourteen, two weeks later on Saturday, the Grangers stood by the door, each peeking outside the curtain every other second. Hermione fiddled with her hair, Mr. Granger absent-mindedly shredded the newspaper in his lap, and Mrs. Granger could be pacing up and down the hall .  
  


"So, what?" Hermione's father joked, "Is your teacher going to change us all into felines then?" He was silenced by a glare from his daughter and wife. "Sorry," he mumbled.   
  
  
At eleven fifteen, on the dot, there was a brisk knock on their door. They rushed open and opened it to admit Professor McGonagall, who had worn her usual clothing -- emerald green robes.   
  
  
"Come, now," she said, ushering the family down the stairs and unto a street, "the Headmaster was able to secure a Ministry Car for us to use to get to our destined location. The Ministry is equivalent to Muggle national governments." She entered a large dark green car where the front seat was taken by a wizard dressed in emerald velvet. Hermione and her family quickly slid into the seat next to the Hogwarts professor. "Straight to Diagon Alley," the teacher commanded the driver, and off they went.   


  
~~~  


"Marvelous . . . absolutely marvelous," Mrs. Granger sighed when they entered Diagon Alley. The amount of people walking around the streets shocked the Grangers. Well, actually, just Mr. Granger. The conversations that they heard going to and leaving Gringotts, the wizarding bank to exchange money, was brilliant. The people they saw . . .   


"Did you hear about the Nimbus 2000? It's the latest broom!"   
  
  
"Boys, I'm warning you! Send home another toilet seat, and I'll bring you right home!"   
  
  
"Have you heard the joke about the Minister of Magic and Filch?"   
  
  
McGonagall turned towards Hermione. "Is there a certain shop that you would like to enter?"   
  
  
Hermione, remembering her promise to behave and study hard, quickly said: "The bookstore"   
  
  
"Flourish and Blotts it is, then." The group marched into the store, pouring over the books needed for school and random books that they passed by. Hermione sighed happily. As long as she was surrounded by books, she was content.   
  
  
"Sally, are you sure we should let our daughter, may I remind you, our only child, go to a place where they read things called _Death Omens_?"   


  
"Ooo. . . look! _How To Charm Your Hair in Any Situation: Never Have a Bad Hair Day Again!_ Ted, don't look at me that way! It's for Hermione, and I'll just . . . borrow it every now and then . . ."   
  
  
After they had gotten through stores like Ollivanders, Magical Menagerie, and others the group found their way to the Ministry Cars and their way to the Granger residence. Before the Grangers left the automobile, McGonagall stopped them.

"It works only on the first day of school and the last. As long as you have these passes, you will be able to get on to the platform," the professor said as she exchanged goodbyes with the Grangers and gave them pass cards to get on the barrier at Platform 9 and ¾. "See you September 1st!"  
  
  
"Busy day," Hermione said, stretching on a chair, examining her new wand and waving it tiredly.   
  
  
"Quite," her parents agreed and they promptly lurched upon the sofa and fell asleep.   


~~~~~   
  


Hermione was extremely nervous. When Hermione was nervous she talked - a lot, as she was on September 1st after her family had made it on to the platform.   
  
  
"Mum and Dad," she said as she clung to her mother's jacket. "You do know how happy and grateful I am that you are letting me go to Hogwarts right?" When her parents gave her a fond look and nodded, Hermione grinned and hugged them. As she pulled away, the train's whistle blew loudly, signaling that the locomotive was about to pull out of the station. Hermione quickly kissed her parents good-bye and entered the train, and smoothed down her robes in an effort to settle her trembling fingers. 

The first compartment she entered, contained a pudgy boy petting a toad. "Oh, hullo. This is Trevor," the boy said, pointing at the amphibian. "I'm Neville Longbottom." Neville stuck out a hand and Hermione shook it.   
  
  
"Hermione Granger. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The two spent the train ride talking to each other. Or rather, Neville listened to Hermione repeat all she remembered from the numerous books she had bought. There was a knock on the door and Hermione opened it, to admit the Snack Lady. She and Neville bought a few things, and Hermione went back to lecturing. "Then, in Hogwarts, A History, there was a chapter all about Dumbledore. The Headmaster! Can you imagine? I'd love for someone to write a book about --"   
  
  
"Oh-oh. This isn't good," Neville sighed with disbelief.   
  
  
"What's wrong, Neville?"   
  
  
"Trevor, my toad, he's disappeared, again. I think he hopped out when you opened the door. Will you help me look for him?" He gave the girl a pleading look. Hermione nodded in assent and the two left the compartment. At first, they split up and knocked on various doors, but none of the inhabitants had seen Trevor. They joined up in front of another compartment. Hermione opened the door.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said in what she believed to a voice with authority to the two boys occupying the compartment -- a red head and a boy with dark hair.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said a red haired boy, but Hermione wasn't listening, as she had just spotted the red head's wand.

"Oh, your doing magic, let's see then," she said, sitting down.

The redhead looked taken aback. _"_Er-alright. _Sunshine Daiseies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." _

Hermione stared at the rat which the red head had targeted. "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it's all worked for me." She ignored the fact that the magic she had preformed took place in Ollivanders when she was trying to find a wand, but the wrong wands knocked things down or broke something. She continued, quickly. "Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learnt all of our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?' 

"I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," the dark haired boy said, speaking for the first time since Hermione had entered.

Hermione looked at Harry. "Are you really? I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History _and_ The Rise and Fall of the Dar Arts _and_ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."_

"Am I?" **Harry said in a dazed voice.**

Hermione's first impression of Harry was that the boy was rather stupid. "Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me. Do either of you know what house you will be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad…Anyway we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon.

****

She stood up and walked out of the compartment, taking Neville by the arm, and ignoring his moans about Trevor. The train chugged to a stop, and they had not walked far, before Hermione realized something. Turning back to the compartment, she opened the door and looked at Ron. "You've got a little spot on your nose. Did you know?" 

__

There, she thought as she and Neville left the train, _at least I helped someone out. I doubt he'd want to be walking around school his first day with some kind of mark on his face! _  


The first person they saw when their feet touched ground, was a tall man with a messy black beard. "Firs' years! Over here! All right there Harry? C'mon follow me – any more firs' years? Mind you step now! Firs' years follow me!"

"Who is that," Hermione asked an older student who was walking past.

"Oh, him? That's Hagrid," the student replied. "He's the groundkeeper. You first years have to follow him to get to Hogwarts." The student walked on.

"Well, come on, Neville," Hermione whispered, and the boy nodded, still unhappy about his toad. **The students all went down a dark path, stumbling.**

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," **called Hagrid over his shoulder,** "jus' round this bend here. No more'n four to a boat!" **called Hagrid pointing to the fleet. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville all got into a boat together.** "Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!"

The boats wafted across the lake, and the students oohed and ahhed in awe of the school. When they reached shore, Hagrid glanced at the ground and then at Neville. "Oy, you there! Is this your toad?"

"Trevor!" **Yelled Neville.**

****

Hagrid smiled and knocked on the door three times.  
  
  
~~~~~

Professor McGonagall stood in front of the students, calling out names of the student whose turn it was to be sorted.

  


"Abbot, Hannah" 

__

Hufflepuff!   
  
  
"I'm not nervous. I'm not nervous" Hermione chanted to herself, trying to convince herself, and failing miserably.   
  
"Boot, Terry"

__

Ravenclaw!   
  


"I know all about the Sorting. I read about it Hogwarts, A History!" she muttered.   
  


"That girl's mental," she heard someone whisper from behind her. "I'm telling you! Absolutely mental!"   
  


"Finnegan, Seamus" 

__

Gryffindor!   
  
  
"Granger, Hermione" The aforementioned girl ran up eagerly and jammed the hat upon her head.   
  


A voice filled her head. "Well, well. You seem to be one for learning. That makes you definite Ravenclaw material."   
  
  
_Alright_, Hermione thought. _That's a good house, I wouldn't mind being in there_  
  
  
"Well, wait a minute," the hat chuckled. "I wasn't done yet. Books and cleverness are needed things, I agree, but don't you think that bravery and friendship are important too? I see that you think more about your heart than your brain, dear girl. I do believe you will do well in GRYFFINDOR!"   
  
  
The Hat was lifted from her head, and a smiling Hermione made her way to the table that clapped the loudest. The Sorting continued until the last student, Blaise, Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin.   
  
  
After dinner, Hermione was led to her dorm by a Gryffindor prefect by the name of Vanessa Syracuse. She shared the dorm with two other girls, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown who spent the evening giggling to each other about one thing or another. Before Hermione fell asleep, her last thought was:   
  
  
"Even though I don't you, I hope you're proud of me, Great-great-great Grandma Lucille." 


End file.
